The magic of the Ravenswood Conservation on Cape Ann , was felt there on a frosty winter night. I was hunting for owls. The snow was lightly falling. The only sound was my footsteps as they moved forward with a quiet crunching of the snow cover beneath my boots.
The deeper I walked into the forist the dimmer the light. The quiet enveloped me like a warm cloak. Then I heard an owl. Then a second.
I looked up through the pine branches and there he was. He was watching for me.
As I began to paint Ravenswood, the magic of that evening returned to me. The more I painted the deeper I walked into the forest..until I felt complete. My work looked back at me, just as the owl had on that snowy night in February on Cape Ann. I breathed deeply, and set down my brush.
The magic of the Ravenswood Conservation on Cape Ann , was felt there on a frosty winter night. I was hunting for owls. The snow was lightly falling. The only sound was my footsteps as they moved forward with a quiet crunching of the snow cover beneath my boots.
The deeper I walked into the forist the dimmer the light. The quiet enveloped me like a warm cloak. Then I heard an owl. Then a second.
I looked up through the pine branches and there he was. He was watching for me.
As I began to paint Ravenswood, the magic of that evening returned to me. The more I painted the deeper I walked into the forest..until I felt complete. My work looked back at me, just as the owl had on that snowy night in February on Cape Ann. I breathed deeply, and set down my brush.